Life-living maxim: Tragedies tend to be sudden; healing always takes time.
In 2005, I was dating someone who didn't love me - and it was cold comfort that I didn't love her either. On the other hand, I was in love with someone, who dominated my time and attention to my detriment, someone who couldn't love me. I was working a job that was sort of in my field, but one that had no joy, that tended to put me at odds with my beliefs, that was in a sometimes homophobic workplace and that, due to my depression, due to my investment in all the wrong girls, I just couldn't handle most days.
I have referred to this as the year of no growth. In 2006, I broke up with the first girl, got fired from the job, and began a tumultuous couple of years changing and the ending my connection with the second girl. That was a major growth year.
But today something I first encountered during the year of no growth popped into my head, reminding me that "You cannot always tell by looking what is happening." Even when you're looking at your own past self.
See, in August 2005, I know from the date on the page I just pulled from my wall, I printed out Rob Brezsny's post, "Bigger, better, more interesting problems." I put it up in my office, then transferred it from apartment to apartment. I never thought about it much, but it's been there, silently prodding me away from my petty little self.
That's not what I'd call no growth. Nor did it fix my whole life. That is an ongoing process. See above maxims.
Today the UU sermon was that awkward annual budget pledge sermon, and I shifted in my seat along with everyone else who has qualms about giving money to religious organizations, though it was a relief to have a speaker who acknowledged the discomfort.
The guest minister, Gail Geisenhaner, spoke specifically about the maxim that one should give 'til it hurts. There's something to this, of course; any good spiritual community asks one to push oneself, keeps one in a place of productive discomfort. But, she said, this is not enough. If you give only until it hurts, you haven't given enough.
Bigger, better, more interesting problem, eh?
Perhaps the most consistent thing about the last couple years for me has been learning to push through discomfort - Andrea recently posted on this aspect of running in ways that capture it better than I can. She says:
The first mile may feel terrible, my body may ache, may cramp. But push through that first mile, start working on regulating my breath, and by mile three or four, the world starts to look up. The kinks are worked out and I start to feel my body do what I want it to do. Keep going, my body seems to be saying. Right now may feel like hell, but give it a minute, an hour.
That's it. That's not giving until it hurts, that's giving until it feels good. Until it is transformative. Until it is more than just getting by. Until it is more than just you. Until you give up the cheap high for the lasting one.
What I am trying to learn these days is how to push through.
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